


i would love to call you mine, dearest

by interstellarbeams



Category: Miss Scarlet and the Duke (TV 2020)
Genre: Canonical Arguments, Developing Relationship, F/M, Ivy is an understanding chaperone, Mentions of Henry Scarlet, Romantic Friendship, Second Kiss, Tea, Tea Parties, Victorian Attitudes, but they’re idiots in love, carriages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellarbeams/pseuds/interstellarbeams
Summary: William gets a letter and Eliza doesn’t understand why he’s so upset.
Relationships: William “Duke” Wellington & Eliza Scarlet, William “Duke” Wellington/Eliza Scarlet
Comments: 24
Kudos: 115





	i would love to call you mine, dearest

**Author's Note:**

> For my lovely friend Emma! Love you girlie! I hope this fulfills some of your William/Eliza dreams. 💗
> 
> This idea came to me while I was half asleep and I had to get it out (I’ll be back on the Brightwell train asap😜).
> 
> Unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated! 💕

The swaying of the carriage as it rumbled over the loosely cobbled street threatened to upset her tumbling stomach and Eliza pressed a hand to her forehead. 

The sparseness of the light outside the carriage lent a shadowy atmosphere to the interior and she glanced over at William, the darkness of his suit blending into the velvet seat. All she could see was the flash of white as he unfolded a letter that an officer had handed him as they climbed into the conveyance. 

The carriage jostled again and Eliza heard the splash as the wheel landed in a puddle, before they were on their way again. 

_Thank god for well sprung carriages_ , she thought. She really did not want to stand in a deluge while she waited for the carriage driver to fix a wheel or axle, which would invariably lead to an argument with William over God knows what. He really insisted on getting on her last nerve on every occasion they had met. Sometimes she wanted to scream, but ladies, unless they were in trouble did _not_ raise their voices. 

“What is it?” She asked, at the sound of his irritated huff, dropping her hands into her lap. She couldn’t help but fiddle with the signet ring on her heart finger, it’s placement against her skin was fairly new and she hadn’t gotten used to it yet. 

“Nothing. A stiff drink could probably handle the situation better than I.” 

“Let me see.” She held out her hand, expecting for him to ignore her and tuck the letter into his pocket, but he surprised her.

He sighed, _of course_ , but handed it over, setting his gaze out the carriage window although there was nothing to see except a smoggy haze and the slosh of rain as it continued to fall from the heavy sky. 

The paper crackled as she handled it, holding it closely so that she could read it in the darkened carriage. The penmanship was scrawling, creeping across the page like ivy stretching up the side of a Bellevue mansion, and she didn’t recognize the hand, but the message was as clear as day.

“Your patronage is being requested from St. Joseph’s Orphanage and Children’s Home? Why, this is delightful.” 

William muttered something under his breath but she had no chance to inquire about his stormy mood before the hired coach rolled to a stop in front of her home.

He shoved the door open impatiently, almost hitting the driver who had jumped down to assist them. Eliza glared at him but had forgotten about the gloves she had removed in the heat of the carriage and she pulled them on quickly. She politely schooled her expression when the driver offered his hand to help her down, then followed the sound of William’s footsteps as he walked up the steps.

The rain pattered down around her and she hurried to escape the downpour under the awning. Elbowing him aside, she pulled her key out of the reticule on her wrist and inserted it into the lock.

The door opened with a quiet squeak and she resolved to remember to apply oil to the hinges on another day. 

William’s footsteps were heavy as he followed her into the parlor. She removed her gloves swiftly, aggravated with him for treating her so callously. His mood was darker than the sky outside, and she had no idea why he was behaving in such a way.

The sound of a footstep in the hall brought Eliza’s attention around to Ivy, who moved quietly to set the tea tray down on the table. She angled a questioning look at Eliza when William turned to remove his hat. Eliza shook her head, grateful for her silent assurance and waved her out the door.

Ivy’s motherly glare was infinitely sterner than William’s angry one, but she ignored it just like she had his. She had everything in hand. She didn’t need Ivy’s help dealing with an overgrown man child.

He had never been one to sit for tea, instead he preferred to pace around the parlor like a caged tiger at the zoo. But he had always behaved when her father had been at tea, when they were younger, and she stood to follow her father’s example. Placing the delicate tea cup and saucer into William’s hands she forced him to sit in the chair across from hers with a persistent nudge backwards.

“That’s better.” She stated as she moved to sit and pour her own tea.

William looked down into the teacup as if he expected she had tried to poison him, or that she had put a rubber snake inside like she had done once when she was a young girl. He probably would rather have whiskey but it was too early and she wouldn’t countenance him being soused before five in the evening. His temper was already legendary and alcohol only made it worse.

She readied her own cup, tongs clinking as she set them back in the sugar dish, the quiet plash as she poured in a small splash of milk, a homey reminder of other times when her father had sat across from her, a new file on his knee. William was silent, she couldn’t even hear the sound of his cup hitting the saucer which meant he wasn’t drinking his tea. _Stubborn man._

Eliza took a sip, enjoying the strong black tea with a hint of sweetness, as she watched him over the top of the cup.

“I thought, now that we’re courting, that you would stop keeping secrets from me, but I see now, that is not the case.”

“Eliza, I let you read the bloody letter, didn’t I?”

“Well, yes. But you could have told me that the orphanage you came from was after your patronage.” 

William shook his head, breathing out through his nose. She watched as his fingers tightened on the delicate teacup handle but she wasn’t ready to let it go.

“It’s wonderful that they want your help. I mean, you’re a detective inspector… you’ve been in the papers. You were bound to get noticed.” She didn’t mention the fact that she thought it was rather flattering to have prestige enough that others took notice.

Men didn’t understand how rare that was for a woman, to get noticed or mentioned for an outstanding deed. 

Usually, it was for a scandal like flashing one's ankles when exiting a carriage or being seen in the company of a certain gentleman too many times during the social season. 

Eliza wouldn’t know, but she had heard about such things. Her father had been an advocate against treating women like mere chattel, maybe that was why she had become the woman she was today — never taking no for an answer even when it was practically rammed down her throat.

“I think you should write them and accept.” She took another sip of tea before soundlessly setting the cup down on the tea table.

“Eliza… I have not asked you to meddle in this.”

“William. I have not asked for your permission.” She placed her hands delicately in her lap, and pierced him with a no nonsense stare.

He glared back, the tapping of his finger on his knee the only other clue to his irritation. Eliza found it particularly delightful. She wasn’t sure why, but riling William Wellington was more fun than her detective work. She really enjoyed working at it. 

“I don’t want to think about that place.” He murmured, pressing his forehead into his palm and shifting so that he was bent, elbows on his knees.

“Why ever not?” Eliza had grown up in a loving home, despite the loss of her mother she had never known hunger or fear. She had always had her beloved Papa, until his murder. 

“Bad memories. Let’s just leave it at that.” 

Eliza looked down at her hands, trying and failing to come up with a question that he would answer. He clearly wasn’t interested in talking to her about his feelings.

_If he couldn’t trust her, who else could he trust?_

She stood, the swish of her skirts loud in the quiet room and moved to his side. She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should follow through with the action that her heart was telling her was needed. Emotions were easily released through words, she was good with those, but actions were harder. 

She hadn’t touched another person in so long — not to comfort, not to hug, never to kiss. She vaguely remembered the brush of her mother’s hand over her head when she was a wee one and needing comfort while she was sick. If her memory was correct it had felt wonderful, soothing. It had felt like _love._

Finally, she scolded herself for being a silly goose and reached out to smooth a hand over the back of his head. He had been still before but he seemed to be carved from stone now, like a statue she had seen once, half hewn from marble like it was being born out of the white and gray veined substance. 

She thought she would freeze too, but she continued to stroke the dark hair that should have felt cool from the darkness of the sheen in the scant light from the lantern by the chair, but that was warm as the softest worn quilt. 

“I can’t pretend to know what you feel, William. You must tell me. Please.” 

He shifted sitting back and she dropped her hand to the edge of his shoulder, lingering just in case he needed comfort again.

“I don’t— I don’t like thinking about that place. It was so cold in winter, sweltering in summer. There was never enough food for a growing lad like myself. The dank odor of molding mattresses every night when we went to sleep and there were never enough pillows or blankets to go around. I can’t think about it without being dragged backwards in time to a point in my life where I was alone.” He sniffed, clasping his hands under his chin as he stared across at the red velvet settee.

“But you’re no longer alone. You… you don’t have to go back there. Besides, becoming their patron, you can… alleviate the same concerns for the orphans that live there now. And help them like my father helped you. He— He would be very proud of you, you know? As— As am  
I.”

“I miss him.” He finally looked up at her, his brown eyes warm. She felt the unusual sentimentality of the moment like a punch to the stomach, holding her breath, afraid that he would turn back into the boorish, angry beast of earlier that afternoon. “The way he used to call me his ‘dearest boy.’”

“I know.” Eliza squeezed his shoulder before she sunk to his level, holding onto the arm of the chair for balance. “But you… you can be _my_ dearest.” 

She looked up into his face, trying to gauge his reaction, but he was as closed off as the jail cells below the Scotland Yard offices.

Eliza wanted to break down those walls for she had used to know him when he was a boy. Yes, he had pinched her and tried to scare her with toads, worms and all manner of slimy things, but he had also been her friend. Comforted her when she was sad and stood up for her when the neighbor boys would tease her — saying how she was all eyes and nothing else; a ghoul or ghost because of her pale skin and light hair.

When they had grown old enough to recognize the attractiveness of one another, he had stopped coming around. She would always hear the deep tones of his voice inside her father’s study when she was on school break but never managed to run into him in the hallways of her home, no matter how often she would linger, waiting, hoping to see him again.

His irritation with her when she had started involving herself in crime scenes was the first reaction she had seen from him in awhile and despite her brave face and witty comments, it had hurt. He used to be her friend, then he was her reluctant colleague. Now, she wanted him to show her the love she knew resided in his heart, but finding the signs was like looking for a minuscule droplet of blood on a red rug. 

She moved her hand away, resolving that he wouldn’t see her cry no matter how much his indifference had hurt her, when his hand reached for hers. Gripping it like a lifeline, as his thumb ran over the top of the signet ring he had given her. 

“Dearest? I like that.” He spoke gruffly, but his hand was tender when it found her cheek and she turned her head into the touch. 

“But whatever will you call me?” She teased, her lip trembling at one corner as she smiled at him, an emotional reaction she had no control over. 

“I think you know. And you better not say it.”

“Why? Because it wouldn’t be ladylike.” 

“Precisely.” His hand was warm against her cheek and she forgot all about the impropriety of them being in the parlor alone without a chaperone. She just wanted to be closer to him, to know that he felt the same way. 

Clearly he did, for she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen such an open look of adoration in his face. Irritation, yes? Frustration, absolutely. But love, very rarely, since they had started spending time together outside of her office and Scotland Yard. 

She knew he felt the same way but had ignored all the signs for a while now. His protectiveness she had mistaken for the male species’ beliefs that women couldn’t be trusted to do anything on their own. His anger at her reckless behavior, more to do with her ignoring his dictates than her safety. His requirements for respect, not only about his male ego, but a gauge or reflection of her feelings for him. William’s tenderness for her when her pet had been killed and his condolences at her father’s funeral, a sign of much deeper affection than she had given him credit for. The signs were all there and as any good detective did, she had to trust the clues that lead to her conclusion: he loved her. 

“You’re sure you find me a pain in the… what was it again?” She shot him a playful smile, enjoying the way his mouth tipped into an answering smile which he quickly schooled.

“A pain in the arse? Yes, Eliza, I do.”

“Good.” 

“Good, really? And why would that be?”

“Because I know you’re okay. When you still think I’m a pain in the arse.”

“Eliza.” William’s tone was a warning, but she saw the twinkle in his eye that told her he wasn’t really offended at her language.

“I’ll have to come up with something equally fitting for you, dearest. How about donkey face or… long nose?” 

William shook his head, shoulders shaking from amusement and she knew she hadn’t annoyed him like she had meant too.

“Detective Inspector Wellington, formally known as the Duke, what do you say to…” She didn’t get to finish her sentence because his lips were suddenly pressed to hers, for the first time since they were teenagers and her Jack Russell, Skip, had been killed — this time she didn’t slap him.

The press of his hands against her cheeks were warm and his lips were firm. Definitely more practiced than the first time, she found herself thinking before she shoved those thoughts away to focus on the touch of his lips.

She lifted her hand to his cheek, the scratch of his beard on her hand, tickled, but she didn’t care about that. She only cared that he was kissing her and she didn’t want him to stop. 

They probably could have stayed like that for many more minutes, but the door was shoved open and they broke away at the sound of Ivy’s gasp.

“Eliza Grace Scarlet! I leave you alone for ten minutes!” Her frown was legendary, her light eyes icy despite the usual warmth that rested in them.

Eliza stood up, hands clasped behind her back as she stood to face her housekeeper (and only mother figure). 

“I’m sorry, Ivy. I— I was simply…” For once in her life Eliza was speechless and she shut her mouth, instead of gaping like a fish out of water.

She started fidgeting under Ivy’s glare and felt like a child again, being scolded for not eating her peas at dinner time, when William stood from his chair. 

“My apologies, Ivy. I see I have overstayed my welcome. I will see myself out.” William’s black coat seemed to darken the parlor door as he left, hat in hand. 

Eliza looked after him. Moving to stand in the doorway next to Ivy and watch him as he left. 

“You’re going to have to marry that man.” Ivy spoke, a familiar gleam in her eyes as she glanced over at Eliza.

“What? Why? Whatever do you mean, Ivy?”

“Because he’s been in love with you since he was seventeen. And it doesn’t look like that’s going to change.”

Eliza gaped, staring towards the closed door that he had just left through.

“Well, I never.” She finally muttered before whirling to collapse onto the settee and stare into the fireplace, thoughts swirling through her head like a pair of swooping swallows drunk on springtime.


End file.
